Chapter 115: Dragon-Heart Captain
The National Colosseum had never been this loud.
Every standing section was packed six people deep. The aisles were clogged with bodies. Vendors had given up walking through the crowd and were just tossing bags of roasted nuts over people’s heads. Banners from a dozen different academies waved overhead, but the two most common were the gold of the Crown and the hand-painted, slightly crooked "TEAM SOUP" signs that had spread through the slum districts like wildfire.
Holden stepped onto the championship stage.
The stone platform was wider than the Semi-Finals arena, a perfect circle fifty meters across. The edges dropped off into a shallow sand pit where eliminated fighters landed.
He looked across the stage.
Four figures stood in a tight formation, completely still.
They wore heavy crimson armor that was all scratched up and dented from real fights. There were no shiny crests or symbols on them, just a small black dragon patched onto the left side of each chest plate.
Dragon-Heart Academy.
The defending national champions.
They hadn’t said a single word since walking out. They didn’t talk trash or make threats. They just stood there breathing together at the same time, staring with cold, hard eyes.
Emric leaned close to Holden.
"That’s Dragon-Heart," he whispered, his voice tight with barely contained awe. "They’ve held the national title for three consecutive years. Their captain, David Thorven, has never been knocked down in a tournament match. Not once. His record stands at forty-one wins, zero losses, zero times forced to take a single step backward."
"Fun fact," Holden murmured. "I don’t care."
"I know you don’t care, but I need to say it out loud or my brain will explode."
Renna had her bow in hand, but her usual bouncing energy was gone. She stood flat-footed, watching the crimson squad with wide eyes. "They’re not even moving, Holden. It’s like looking at statues. Creepy statues that could probably kill us."
Lyra said nothing. Her spear was already in hand, ice crawling along the shaft. She knew what this fight meant. No tricks. No politics. Just four of the deadliest students in the country.
The Dragon-Heart captain stepped forward.
He was massive. Not tall and lean like Gareth Vance had been. This man was built like a brick wall, broad shoulders filling out his crimson armor, thick arms ending in hands that could probably crush stone. A heavy broadsword hung from his back.
He stopped ten paces from Holden and looked at him directly.
No sneer. No smirk. No performance for the cameras.
"Holden Voss," he said. His voice was deep, calm, and carried the weight of someone who had nothing to prove. "I am David Thorven, captain of Dragon-Heart Academy."
Holden didn’t respond with a joke.
Something about the way this man stood made sarcasm feel cheap. There was no arrogance to poke at. No fragile ego to shatter. Just a warrior who had shown up to do his job.
"I’ve watched your matches," David continued. "Your technique is rough. Your footwork needs work. But your instincts are sharp, and your power is real."
He reached back and drew his broadsword in a single, smooth motion. The blade hit the stone with a sound like a drum.
"I hope you are as strong as the rumors say. I would hate for the finals to be boring."
Holden looked at him for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
"You actually know how to swing that thing," he said quietly. "Let’s dance."
David’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes shifted. Approval. Maybe even a hint of respect.
They turned and walked back to their teams.
DING!
Dragon-Heart moved as one.
No hesitation. No delay. The moment the bell rang, all four of them sprinted forward in a perfect wedge formation. The two rear fighters flanked wide, forcing Lyra and Renna to split. The third engaged Emric head-on with a war hammer that hit his shield like a cannonball.
David came straight at Holden.
But he didn’t swing immediately. He feinted left, then drove his shoulder into Holden’s chest, trying to bully him backward with raw mass. Holden slid back two steps, surprised by the sheer physical force.
The rest of Dragon-Heart was just as precise.
Lyra met her opponent’s blade, but the crimson fighter immediately disengaged and pivoted to attack Renna’s blind spot, forcing Renna to abort a shot and dive sideways. Emric blocked the war hammer, but the impact drove his heels into the stone, and the follow-up strike came so fast he barely got his shield up in time.
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
Lyra, Emric, and Renna were being pushed to their absolute limits just to survive. Dragon-Heart’s teamwork wasn’t just good. It was mechanical. Every attack flowed into the next one. Every opening was a trap. Every retreat was covered.
Holden watched it happen in a single sweep of his eyes.
Then he held out his empty right hand.
Blue pixels swirled in his palm, dense and bright, spinning faster and faster until the Solar-Forged Sword appeared in a flash of crimson light.
Renna loosed an arrow at her flanker and shouted over her shoulder. "I still don’t know where he got that thing but it looks SO cool!"
Holden ignored them.
He stepped forward and brought the Solar-Forged Sword up.
David was already there.
Their blades met in the center of the arena.
BOOM!
This time, the shockwave wasn’t absorbed or deflected. It hit Holden’s arms like a freight train and pushed him back.
He only moved back half a step. But it was the first time in the tournament that anything had made him move backward.
Holden’s eyes widened slightly.
David’s broadsword had caught his strike at a perfect angle. The force Holden had poured into the clash wasn’t gone. It was coming back at him, redirected through the blade and amplified by David’s stance.
Kinetic redirection. A rare technique that turned an opponent’s power against them.
Holden looked at David across their locked blades.
David looked back.
Holden smiled. A real, genuine smile that reached his eyes.
"Nice trick," he said.
David’s expression remained flat, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward by the smallest fraction.
"It’s not a trick," the captain said. "It’s discipline."
They pushed apart and circled each other, with their blades raised, the crowd’s roar fading into white noise around them.